


Faith and Service

by Lorelei



Category: Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 09:32:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2807717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorelei/pseuds/Lorelei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When is a scarf more than a scarf? Bertie is called upon to save Gussie Fink-Nottle's engagement to Madeline Bassett and enlists Jeeves' help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faith and Service

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cimorene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cimorene/gifts).



“Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love.  
It is to be all made of sighs and tears;—  
It is to be all made of faith and service;—  
It is to be all made of fantasy.”  
      --Shakespeare, _As You Like It_

“Love comforteth like sunshine after rain.”  
     --Shakespeare, _Venus and Adonis_

One may ask exactly how it is that B. Wooster gets himself into these situations. It can not be denied, and so I admit it, that I find myself in the midst of more situations than the next bloke. And so, to get back to the original question, I answer you - kindness. It is pure human kindness and feeling for my fellow man that is my downfall. I am nothing if not tender-hearted. Which is how I came to be in the present predicament.

It was clear pretty much from the get go that expert assistance would be needed. “Jeeves,” I called.

“Sir?” He answered.

“Jeeves, I have a situation that requires your special talents, your brain power, your unique knack for thinking of something when all is lost and there is nothing left to be thought of.” 

Jeeves bowed. “I am at your service, sir.”

“Have you been eating your fish?” I asked. “Because this situation is a Moby Dicker. This one is a knotty one. I suspect it will take every last bit of gray matter in the old brain pan.”

“I assure you, sir, that I am well nourished.”

I looked him up and down. He did have a certain appearance of sleekness, a certain air of a feline who has recently tossed a canary down its gullet. I nodded in satisfaction. 

“You remember Gussie Fink-Nottle?” Jeeves inclined his head slightly and I continued. “Then you doubtless recollect that he is engaged to Madeline Bassett?”

“I recall the affair vividly, sir, as it concerned you so closely.” Jeeves shuddered slightly.

“Exactly,” I said. “The only thing standing between me and having Madeline Bassett as a wife is four-eyed, newt-loving, fish-faced Gussie Fink-Nottle, whom she inexplicably adores. Well,” I warned, “there is trouble in the Fink-Nottle/Bassett paradise, Jeeves.”

“Indeed, sir?” Jeeves replied. “I am pained to hear it.”

He did look pained. In fact, he looked positively dyspeptic. Kindness and tender-heartedness no doubt run in Jeeves’ veins too, but I was surprised that he was so moved on Gussie’s behalf.

“Do I not recall, sir, that Miss Bassett had in the past indicated that if her relations with Mr. Fink-Nottle were discontinued she would turn her attentions once more to you?”

“Bingo, Jeeves. That’s hitting the nail on the head. I mean, I am eager to help an old pal and so on. And Gussie is among the oldest of pals, having been given ten of the best on the trouser seat along side me for sneaking sweets out of the kitchen as far back as primary school. But there is a personal aspect to this problem as well.”

“Indeed, sir.”

“If things go south between Gussie and Madeline, I might be landed with her again. And, as you know, the holy state of prospective matrimony and one Bertram Wooster do not get on well together.”

“Indeed not, sir. I will do my utmost to assist. Please tell me what has troubled the young couple’s nascent courtship.”

“Knitting, Jeeves. I blame knitting. The current predicament is entirely due to fiber-based handicrafts. If she had only taken up painting or, even better, topiary, then all would be well. Portraits aren’t any use to anybody and bushes at least stay put in one place. But la Bassett is evidently an inveterate wielder of yarn and pointed sticks.” I paused to draw a deep breath, fortifying myself to tell the tale. “You see, Jeeves, Madeline knitted Gussie a scarf. A fellow would think, wouldn’t he, that a scarf is just a bit of cloth to wear around one’s neck against the cold? But, this scarf? This scarf was evidently a symbol of undying love. But Gussie didn’t know that about the scarf. He thought the scarf was just a scarf, you see? So when Catsmeat Potter-Pirbright was feeling the chill and fearing for his delicate voice, Gussie offered up his scrap of wool to our mutual chum.”

“Most gallant of him, sir.”

“Milk of human kindness, no doubt. But now he’s paying for it. You see, Catsmeat has hightailed it off to Hollywood to exercise his delicate voice in a film audition. Without returning the scarf to Gussie. And Madeline has got the wind up. She’s asking Gussie why he doesn’t wear the scarf and if he doesn’t like it.”

“Ah. A bad sign.”

“Exactly so, Jeeves. Madeline thinks that Gussie has spurned her token of love. And he, poor blighter, still thinks she is the bees knees and is quite distressed. So he has appealed to me to help him recover the scarf. And I am appealing to you.”

“I assure you, sir, that I will do my utmost.”

“We need that scarf back, Jeeves. And we need it before Christmas Eve. You see, Gussie is slated to troll the ancient Yuletide whatnot with Madeline and the church choir in Totleigh-on-Wold on the night of the 24th. If he doesn’t turn up in his scarf, the gig is up. Did I mention that this particular scarf is one of a pair? Madeline knitted two, you see, one for Gussie and one for herself. Matching scarfs for the matching love birds, eh? And if the gander doesn’t sport his on the eve of our savior’s birth, then the goose is going to return him as defective merchandise.”

“Can you describe the scarf, sir?”

“I have not seen it myself in the flesh, Jeeves, but I am told that it is hideous, three-inch thick chartreuse and puce stripes with a cerulean fringe.”

“Most distinctive, sir, and something one is unlikely to be able to replace in a shop.”

“Quite. This is a one-of-a-kind, or rather two-of-a-kind, item. We think that Gussie’s half of the pair is currently nestled tidily in the Drones cloak room, where Catsmeat deposited it before shoving off on his trans-Atlantic adventure.”

“But surely, Mr. Potter-Pirbright, were he in residence, would wish to return the scarf?” Jeeves inquired.

“Quite.” I affirmed.

“And so, he would have no objection to your returning it on his behalf?” Jeeves asked.

“None at all.” I concurred.

“Then perhaps the direct approach is the most expedient.”

“Ah. Gussie had the same initial thought that you did. And so he approached Robinson, the head of the Drones Club cloakroom. The hitch is that Robinson appears to pride himself on discretion and sheer doggedness. He won’t so much as admit that Catsmeat has left anything in the cloakroom. But if Catsmeat did leave something in the cloakroom, Robinson is apparently prepared to defend it with his life. Even if it is a hideous chartreuse, puce, and cerulean scarf.”

“In this case, I feel that you would be in possession of the moral high ground if you were to assist Mr. Potter-Pirbright in returning the scarf to Mr. Fink-Nottle in absentia.” Jeeves advised.

“I assure you, Jeeves, that I am in complete agreement with you. I have no moral qualms on this point. The problem, though, is how to get the scarf if Robinson won’t so much as admit that he has it.” 

“If Mr. Robinson were, for some reason, persuaded to allow you into the cloakroom or were called away from the cloakroom, you could take that opportunity of unfettered access to the inner domain to rectify the situation yourself, could you not?”

“Just so, Jeeves. So your advice is that I should nip into the cloakroom myself and put things right?’’

“Indeed, sir, that would seem to be the most expedient solution.”

So that is what I tried to do. And I assure you, Dear Reader, I gave the project my best shot. I chatted up Robinson, the cloakroom attendant.

“I say, Robinson, I may have left something in the cloakroom. Do you mind if I nip back and have a look for it?”

“Permit me, Mr. Wooster. What is it you are looking for, Mr. Wooster?”

“Oh, nothing important. Just my scarf.”

“I assure you, Mr. Wooster, that I remember every item checked by every member of the Club. And you have nothing currently left with the cloakroom, sir.”

“Oh, but I think that I might. I am always leaving things places, you see? I once left my cousin on the ferry. My aunt almost didn’t forgive me. So I’ll just nip back and give it a look, shall I?”

“Permit me, Mr. Wooster. No, nothing here, Mr. Wooster.”

Dashed Robinson and his dashed memory.

I retreated for a few days and laid low, drinking G and Ts and casually tossing darts about the billiard room in the hopes of putting Robinson at his ease and taking him unawares. On my next attempt, I tried distraction and subterfuge, though these are not, admittedly, my forte. However, pushed to the limit as it were and mindful of the fact that it was already December 23rd, I ponied up with the old college try and did my best.

Upon returning home that evening, I confessed my defeat to Jeeves. “You see, Jeeves, I dropped a lit cigar into a well-stuffed highboy to create a distraction. Given how much high-quality gin has been poured into that armchair over the years it ought to have gone up in flames. The Drones ought to have been evacuated toot sweet, giving me a clear shot at pilfering the cloakroom. But, alas, the cigar was smothered almost immediately in the downy seat of the chair. It barely managed a tendril of upholstery smoke.”

“Most disappointing, sir,” Jeeves commiserated. 

“Quite, Jeeves,” I said. “And what are we to do now? I’m afraid that Robinson has his back up at present. He looks at me suspiciously if I so much as check an umbrella. My free agent-dom is seriously curtailed.” I wouldn’t say that I was despondent, but it would not be going too far to say that I moped, disappointed in my failure to secure the scarf and fearful of a Bassett-ful future.

Jeeves, inexplicably, looked quite pleased with himself. “Well, sir, I think that if Mr. Fink-Nottle were to call at the post office in Totleigh-on-Wold he would find that all is well.”

I stared at Jeeves, taken aback. “What? The post office? What have they got to do with anything?”

Jeeves seemed to stand a bit taller. “Mr. Fink-Nottle will find, sir, that there is a package waiting for him in the Totleigh-on-Wold post office. This package will contain a scarf.”

“Jeeves!” I goggled, “You got the scarf! How did you do it?”

“It is not _the_ scarf, sir,” Jeeves demurred, “merely _a_ scarf.”

“A chartreuse and puce scarf with cerulean fringe?” I asked.

“Quite so.” Jeeves confirmed.

“How, Jeeves,” I goggled, “how?”

“Well, sir,” he replied, “I have an aunt who lives in Totleigh-on-Wold.”

“Yes?” I encouraged.

“Yes, sir,” he answered. “And she knits, sir.”

“And?” I asked.

“And, sir, she was able to observe Miss Bassett’s scarf and, at my request, produce a credible copy of it.”

“Jeeves,” I said, “you’re a Christmas miracle!”

“Thank you, sir. It is kind of you to say so. I strive only to offer you service and faith.” 

“Well, Jeeves, you’ve certainly got the faith and service racket down. But you offer a jolly lot more than that. Didn’t Shakespeare say something about being like sunshine after a storm? That’s you, Jeeves,” I said. “You are my sunshine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to FB for beta-ing.


End file.
